Kylo Ren
by TheWeepingWillow555
Summary: "Ben Solo may have died, but it was Kylo Ren who lived on as Storm Troopers scrambled around his unconscious body...Hands gripped the corpse of Ben Solo, but it was Kylo Ren's fingers that twitched spasmodically, and Kylo Ren's heart that beat steadily on - albeit weakly." Naive Ben Solo always wanted to be Kylo Ren. Wish granted. (TFA, rated T but subject to change)
1. Prologue: Snowfall

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except plot idea. I don't even own the cover image. :D_

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Prologue**

Cold. It was vicious, tearing and biting at his flesh - easing beneath the dark cloth of his armor and clothing, pinching and gnawing at the fading heat in his body. Numbness was consuming him, languidly swallowing his twitching fingers down its greedy throat. He couldn't feel his right leg save for the icy burn of the slash along his thigh, and the dull friction of his boot twitching spasmodically against snowy earth. His lips were open, and air seemed to fall into his lungs of its own accord, feeding him with cool, uncomfortable breath and sustaining consciousness until death would finally come.

Ben Solo was dying, abandoned and alone. From his mother to his teacher, every soul had recoiled or removed itself from him... even his enemy. The girl had fled with barely a glance back at him - a hate-filled, furious glare that burned like pale, colorless fire. She hadn't bothered to kill him... her friend was more important to her than destroying the greatest creation Ben Solo had ever made - the pride of his life and desperate last hope: Kylo Ren. It was enough of a wound that Ben Solo himself was unwanted, but even this shade he had become - this personification of all he wanted to be - was too little to be valued, even so much as to be worthy of destruction.

This, more than any of his wounds, was what finally killed Ben Solo. But the body lived on, and the entity that took hold in the despairing mind of the tortured son of Han and Leia was powerful enough to keep it that way.

Ben Solo may have died, but it was Kylo Ren who lived on as Storm Troopers scrambled around his unconscious body, their cries and orders flying through the snowy air. Hands gripped the corpse of Ben Solo, but it was Kylo Ren's fingers that twitched spasmodically, and Kylo Ren's heart that beat steadily on - albeit weakly.

* * *

Thousands upon thousands of miles away, Supreme Commander Snoke stiffened in his throne, small eyes fixating upon nothing. Then, slowly, thin, scarred lips bared ugly fangs in a satisfied smile, and the Sith settled back into his seat to await the return of his dead apprentice...or rather, whatever came in his stead.

* * *

 **Author's Note: ...Shortest prologue I think I've ever written. I'm so ashmed... *cringes***

 **Hello, peoples~ First of all, I am a guilty shmuck for neglecting my other two stories, and I'll probably get blasted by some sort of vengeful karma for it later, but I had this plot ide after watching the new Star Wars, and- I just couldn't resist.**

 **Explaination:**

 **I've read a lot of fanfics about Kylo Ren being a big ball of angst and potential redemption, and though it's perfectly canon and in keeping with the movie... well, I wasn't satisfied. I see Kylo Ren and Ben Solo as two people - Ben Solo being the actual personhood and soul, Kylo Ren being the person Ben WANTS to be. Kylo Ren doesn't actually exist until Ben Solo let's go of himself; until that point he's just an imaginary act that Ben puts on when he wants to be badass. ;)**

 **This story takes place directly following the movie. I'm not really a huge Star Wars fan - not because I don't like it, but because my heart has always belonged to Transformers - until this new movie, so you old time fans go ahead and feel free to tease me about it if you want, and please please PLEASE write me a message if there's anything I'm missing or have gotten wrong as far as the world of Star Wars goes... I'm really not as familiar with it as I want to be.**

 **So, in closing, here's wht this story promises: It promises a Kylo Ren-centric, as-realistic-as-possible, semi-humorous semi-dark semi-romantic story that will try and continue this little idea I've had until I find a proper ending for it. I welcome ideas, in that area. ;P Look forward to an intense battle for the redemption of a young man that's already dead, the realization that he's been replaced by the creature he so often longed to be, and the answer to the question: Will Kylo Ren (NOT Ben Solo, note) be redeemed?**

 **Please enjoy; I should have the next chapter up very soon, if not by this afternoon.**

 **~Willow**


	2. Chapter One: Recovery

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot idea._

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter One: Recovery**

The metal was cool in her grip, but the eyes that watched her were even colder. At least, that's how it felt. Luke Skywalker looked every bit the Jedi Master, with a full, silvery beard, flowing robes, and pale, piercing eyes. He stood upon the clifftop as though it were a house porch, without care or notice of the hundred foot drop behind him, his wrinkled hands folded casually behind his back. But his gaze was icy and intent; burning like twin embers of blue coal, steady and unrelenting.

But embers were not flames, and Rey could see the weakness in the old Jedi as easily as he seemed to ignore it. Jakku was not a kind place by any stretch of the imagination, and though she didn't ask for it, the scavenger girl was taught much by way of reading others, looking for exploitable faults or tell-tale signs of manipulation. It was useful then, despite the fact that she didn't like what she saw, more often than not, and it served her well now.

Rey was the first to blink, and she was also the first to speak. "Luke Skywalker?" It was obvious, but there was something in her chest that demanded she hear it from his mouth - an instinctive distrustful wariness that had saved her life countless times.

The old man's eyes narrowed, and he gave a single nod. "You have found him." He answered, and Rey was surprised to hear that his voice was strong; youthful and assured, as though the man beneath the wrinkled skin hadn't aged a day beyond thirty.

For a moment, there was silence between them. Rey couldn't think of what to say- her mind kept murmuring an awed whisper every time she tried to collect her thoughts. You found Luke Skywalker...He's Luke Skywalker...Skywalker...

"If I had known I was to be made into an exhibit for others to examine, I would have killed myself long ago, Rey of Jakku." His voice broke through her thoughts, and Rey stiffened, her fingers tightening on Luke's lightsaber and bringing it back toward her chest instinctively.

"How do you know my name?" She asked, both afraid and curious of the answer.

"The same way I know that you will leave this island and never return." She met his gaze, and she knew he was right. Her shoulders slumped, one foot scraping against rock as she stepped backward-

-and then stopped dead, stiffening, when she felt his disappointment ripple between them. It was strange that he was disappointed, but the more pressing matter was that she hadn't felt it in the air. It had been in her head, along paths that none had walked since Ben Solo had attempted to breach her thoughts.

Rey stared at Skywalker, startled and immediately wary again. "You were using the force to persuade me." She accused through gritted teeth. "Well I'm sorry, Master Skywalker- I'm not leaving this island."

The gaze was now expressionless, the silvery beard beneath twitching suspiciously. "Apparently not. Not until I've trained you, or so you believe. But I see no reason for doing so - not yet."

She couldn't decide if his answers were frustrating or impressive. Rey frowned. "What are you looking for that would convince you to train me?" She asked honestly, lowering the lightsaber fully at her side. Whether frustrating or impressive, Luke Skywalker was not an enemy.

Silence descended after her question, and birds cawed musically in the distance. The breeze caught at their robes, soft and sweet, and the grass whispered at their feet.

Luke Skywalker blinked - was this the first time he had? - and answered her in a soft, measured tone that should have made her wary, but soothed her instead. "My home needs some repairs. Help me, and I will answer you when we are finished."

She didn't realize what a sacrifice it was, at the time. Rey only nodded slowly, shifting awkwardly as Skywalker continued to stare at her. Around them, warm air whispered and vividly green grass danced; the sun shone soothingly down, and waves beat gently on the silvery shores of Luke Skywalker's home.

* * *

"I do not need a cane-!"

"C'mon, Finn - it's no big deal-"

A voice from a couple corners over sounded out, mechanical and nervous. "A great percentage of battle survivors require a cane, Master Finn, for at least two years after their initial recovery period-"

"Not helping, C3PO." Poe growled, palming his face with one calloused hand and glaring out from between his own fingers. "Not helping."

The Medical room was abuzz in activity of one sort or another, but their own little nook was particularly busy. Nurses tittered and clucked, tweaking at the many wires, cables, and other devices they had attached to their patient. That patient, Finn by name and grumpy by chance, was currently doing his level best to make the nurses' job as difficult as possible. Monitors beeped frantically around them, flashing multicolored lights over the clean white of hospital surfaces; glossy walls, squeaky-clean floor, metallic poles and cables all around.

The dark shoe that went flying through the air looked oddly out of place, among so much bleached white, but Poe supposed flying shoes usually looked out of place no matter what their surroundings were - unless it was a stripper club...

...He needed more sleep.

"Where's Rey?" Finn barked for approximately the third time in as many minutes. Poe felt a little bit of sympathy for the kid, but then Finn swiveled his glare onto Poe, and the sympathy shriveled a bit.

Poe frowned, crossing his arms and ignoring the leathery squeak of his jacket. It wasn't his old one, and the sounds hadn't yet transitioned from 'annoying' to 'familiar'. His old jacket was hung up on a rack near Finn's bedside, tempting its old owner with its glossy, ragged gleam - practically begging him to snatch it up again, as he used to. But he'd given it to the kid - to Finn - an Poe was a man of his word. Finn deserved the reward; Poe would just get used to the nasty smell of a new, squeaky jacket.

The pilot shook his head at his dark companion, offering a smile and hoping it looked convincing. "Don't get all pissy at me, Finn; she left to go find Skywalker. I told you already, and it hasn't changed in the past five minutes."

The ex-stormtrooper looked slightly mollified, but he still scowled like a thundercloud getting ready to loose its bolts. Kid was pretty drugged, at the moment, truth be told; he never looked this honest when properly conscious.

A nurse - orange-skinned and curvaceous enough to satisfy any man's daydream - tittered and frowned, her dark eyes blinking two lids in rapid succession as she effortlessly plucked Finn's arm into her grip. As easily and with no little grace, she plucked a thin syringe from her pocket, sliding it smoothly into the dark skin of the ex-stormtrooper's arm and emptying its goopy contents into his vein with a squeeze of her fingers.

Finn yelped - a bit of a delayed reaction, in Poe's opinion - and turned a wide-eyed stare on her, mouth agape. "What was that-?!" He sputtered, pointing accusingly at the syringe.

The nurse eyed him cooly, and there was a certain amount of petty relish in her reply. "A sedative."

Finn lolled backward without another word, eyes rolling, and Poe couldn't help but whistle his appreciation. "Fast acting stuff." He grinned tiredly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. The nurse gave him a flat look, lips thinned, and slowly slid the syringe back into her apron.

A little while later, Poe too was happily asleep, nicely bundled into a hospital bed while the curvaceous nurse smiled quietly to herself.

He really had needed that rest. Afterward he and Finn could go about seeing what they could do for Commander Leia. Yeah... afterward.

It had been a long haul, that was for sure.

* * *

The room ahead was dark. General Hux raised an eyebrow, pale lips thinning, and his folded hands tightened behind his back, knuckles turning white. Shadows answered his glare with expressionless apathy, seeming to seep into the brightly lit corridor around him, dimming every source of light without effort or intention. Hux's crisp suit flexed with his irritated intake of breath, and his nostrils flared.

The medical bay was not supposed to be dark. It was supposed to be clearly lit, white and clean. Instruments were supposed to be neatly lined on the walls, and the assistant medic drones were ordered to attend to every medical berth in the ward with mathematical precision and efficiency.

Instead, there was only blank, impenetrable blackness. And, more importantly, Hux knew exactly who was to blame.

"Ren!" He called harshly, teeth clicking back together with a crisp crack.

Silence answered him.

Commander Hux wasn't so foolish as to enter the medical room - he'd seen too many of the young Sith's immature tantrums to risk a severed limb by entering.

Kylo Ren was heavily wounded - Hux had seen it himself. A crusted, charred slash nearly bisected the unmasked man's face, and something highly damaging had ripped a fairly large hole into his side. His right leg had been cut open; it had smoked for the entire fifteen minutes it had taken them to get to Hux's last remaining command ship. Smelled terrible, too.

With this list of gruesome injuries, there was no way that Kylo Ren could survive without medical attention, which, judging by the darkened, sullenly silent med-bay, the young man was currently denying.

But Hux had orders to bring the Sith apprentice to his master, alive.

It was a difficult problem. Hux wasn't about to risk his life, Ren seemed determined to refuse help, and Supreme Commander Snoke would have both their heads if Ren died.

So Hux called Fasma.

The femenine trooper stalked up the corridor like a particularly shiny panther, all angles and rounded metal. Her dark visor regarded Hux with an expressionless disdain he knew was probably just his imagination, and her voice rang out metallically between them, smooth and controlled.

"He hasn't answered any communications, Commander?" She asked, neither scorning Hux for calling upon her nor commending him for his wisdom in doing so.

Hux sniffed, frowning at the darkened doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of Ren's figure somewhere in the blackness, despite the futility of such an attempt. "No, he has not." He replied.

Fasma grunted, and unceremoniously unshouldered a rather large rifle. Hux raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Let Fasma take responsibility for whatever happened; if she died, no matter. If Ren died, Fasma would pay the price of killing him.

The female captain stepped easily up to the doorway into the medical area, her voice magnifying to create a booming announcement. "Lord Ren, it is Commander Fasma. I'm coming in."

Again, as ever, silence answered. Not even the whir of a drone broke the stillness.

Fasma turned to Hux, giving a nod of her expressionless helmet (what she meant by it, he had no idea, nor cared to know) and stalked into the shadows. Her shiny form melted into them seamlessly, and she was gone from Hux's view. He could still hear her heavy footsteps clanking deeper into the medbay, clattering over a few metallic items and crushing something plasticky.

Pale hands clenched- Hux gritted his teeth, swallowing down the tension that had bristled along his spine and blossomed into the air around him.

Fasma stepped on, her tread growing softer with every clunk of boot against floor. Then...she stopped.

Hux hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until a thunderous crash from within tore it out of his lungs in a wrenching gasp.

"Lord Ren-" The voice was distorted, torn by static and garbled. The very definite crunch that followed was not. It was clear as crystal, and the sound of trickling liquid dripping to the floor rang loudly in Hux's ears.

The Commander mouthed wordlessly, torn between fury and fear. Boots scraped against smooth floor as he staggered back, scrambling for his weapon.

He couldn't see what had happened - damn human vision - he couldn't see!

But he knew without having to see. He could feel it in his shuddering chest.

Kylo Ren had killed his captain, and there would be hell to pay, now.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** **Length? Much better... ^^**

 **Hope you all enjoyed this one; I'm trying to push myself a little, since usually I'm a perfectionist where writing is concerned. I'm planning to work faster and ignore the things that bug me, unless they're really damaging to the story. If it does well, I might come back and fix things up a little bit (I love love love detail, so writing scene's without explaining more of what things look like and how they feel just kills me).**

 **Anyway, please let me know what you think? I can't improve without feedback so even a "doing great!" or "omg this sucks" is fine by me.**

 **Enjoy! Until next time... :D**


	3. Chapter Two: The First Day

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot idea._

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter Three: The First Day.**

People always said grand things about Luke Skywalker - about the things he had accomplished and the trials he had overcome. They went quiet when asked why he had disappeared, abandoning his friends and those to whom he had promised protection, but after a little while they went right back to praising the Jedi.

He might have been impressive, once, but Skywalker's home was anything but awe-inspiring.

Rey blinked at the meagre stone hut ahead of her, already comparing it to her own home back on Jakku. They were surprisingly equivalent.

Squat stone walls supported a round, hat-like roof, grass sprouting like fur from cracks in the stone and thatching. A wooden door, so old it was more like boards strung haphazardly together, blocked her entry - at least, visually speaking. One kick and it would have caved, but the symbolism still held strong.

Skywalker stepped past her with a soft grunt, his eyes casting a questioning look from beneath his brown hood. "I don't bite." He remarked, and she could have sworn he smiled slightly - albeit wryly. "And neither does my house, so you can come in when you like."

Rey nodded wordlessly, frowning after his retreating figure.

A moment ago, he had been all blankness and strangely intent stares. Now he was joking with her. The weakness always stayed, apparent and easy to read, but everything else about the Jedi was confusing.

It was the creak of the door closing that broke her from her thoughts, and Rey scrambled to catch it before it fully closed. Heat swelled over her as she entered, and she looked up in time to see a floating orb of dripping fire fall into an old fireplace, drenching the dry wood there in flame.

Skywalker was framed by the warm light, his back to her, wrinkled hands folded at his spine. Rey stepped tentatively forward, unwilling to speak, but disliking the silence. Thankfully, the Jedi broke it for her.

"Are you hungry?"

Her response was automatic, prompted by the glimpse she caught of his less-than substantial food basket. "No, thank you." She lied.

Pale blue eyes speared her, and the air seemed to chill. "Hm." He grunted nebulously, and then warmth returned Rey's surroundings. She stared at the Jedi before her, trying to ignore the way tingles danced up and down her forearms, prickling through her hair.

Confusing or not, Luke Skywalker was undoubtedly very powerful. She'd never felt something like this before - this feeling of obedience in the air, as though every speck of dust or whisper of breeze would bow to the Jedi's command if he asked. Rey was the only thing in the room that was not bending to the man's every glance, it seemed. That made her nervous.

Skywalker took no notice of her for a while, after that. He didn't offer her a seat, he didn't speak, and he most certainly didn't make eye contact. Rey only watched as he prepared himself a meal of watery soup in a well-used wooden bowl, surprised at how normal his cooking style was.

Why she was surprised, she didn't really know... had she expected him to cook in some special Jedi way? Well, he had lit the fire with a ball of flame... it wasn't out of the question that he would use some sort of force for his soup as well.

Finally, her curiosity became too great for her cautious awe to contain. Rey cleared her throat a little, shifting uncomfortably. Blue eyes slid straight into hers, penetrating and expecting, one eyebrow quirking upward, and she nearly swallowed down the question she had prepared. Instead, she stiffened her shoulders, sinking painfully down on stiff limbs into a crouch, and met his stare.

"Can you teach me about the force?" Her voice was slightly cracked from previous silence, and she looked down at the floor, pursing her lips in embarrassment.

The floor tiles were just as dirty and decrepit as the rest of the home, but they echoed Skywalker's chuckle nicely. It was a pleasant sound; deep and soft, like thick black feathers and melted chocolate. Rey was shocked to hear it - her head jerked up, and she gaped at the old man opposite her.

He was smiling. He had a pleasant, crinkle-eyed smile, but there was a coldness in it that chilled Rey to the bone - a bitterness that stung painfully at her. The horrible contrast suddenly sickened her, and Rey found she could not look at it anymore. Her gaze dropped, and she gulped down her nausea with difficulty.

His voice was as soft as his laugh, when he spoke, but it fell like muffled thunder between them.

"What good is the Force to you?"

Rey blinked, head rising as she stared. "...What?"

"The Force is nothing to a girl who comes looking for someone like me to teach her." The Jedi's gaze was fixed on hers, the light from the fireplace dancing in his eyes. Shadows had carved out his face, hollowing his cheeks and darkening his features. He looked like a corpse... a cross-legged, robed corpse with bright, shard-like eyes, and a dribble of soup on his beard. "I'm no teacher, and you're no student. You're just desperate for someone to teach you - anyone, so long as it is not Kylo Ren." The name fell heavily from the Jedi's lips, muffled by his beard. "What you don't realize is that Kylo Ren's teacher was none other than myself. Do you think you will avoid him just by looking for a teacher in his mentor?"

It was enough. Rey's hands were fists, tight and white, and she could feel the grind of her own teeth, gritted firmly. "No." She bit out, glaring. She was practically shaking with rage - her bones were stiff and her muscles screamed, but she didn't care.

"I'm not trying to escape that _monster_." She hissed, slamming a fist to the ground - barely noticing when it stung painfully. "I'm trying to understand why I can do things - why I can hear voices and use a sword I'd never learned to hold! I'm trying to understand why I saw visions when I touched your saber, and why you won't so much as touch it!"

Blue eyes looked at her with a strangely dead expression, neither arguing nor denying; just empty and watchful. Rey didn't care - she had survived too much to stop now and wait for his justifications.

"I want to know why you promised you would answer me, if this was what your answer would be all along. Why tell me I could help you? Why offer me the chance?" She demanded.

The Jedi's expression sharpened suddenly, beard bristling in a frown. "Why ask me if I could teach you when I had already given you your answer?" He countered. "Your impatience damned you, and you failed my test before it had even begun. You look at life as though it is running by, but to be a Jedi, you must see it as it is - as the slow swell of creation around you. I have no skill to teach you - only experience with which to show you where you are unsuited for my lessons, if I could give them."

Rey's nails were cutting into her palms, and she could feel her eyes stinging. "So you won't teach me because I asked a question before I had taken your test."

"It was a mistake to even offer you the chance - a mistake made out of foolish fantasies, and one I won't make again. Your impatience just reminded me of my stupidity." He corrected, hooded head swiveling away as he gazed into the fire. "You will leave by morning, Rey of Jakku. There is nothing for you here."

She was on her feet, tears stinging shameful trails down her cheeks. Her body shook with rage and disappointment, her breath coming raggedly in hisses between her teeth.

In a few stomped steps she was at the door, but Rey could not step through - not without turning one last time to look at Luke Skywalker.

Her words came fast and acidic, spat from tight lips. "I came to find a lost man. He was my last hope - the last person who could help me. I didn't think I'd find someone who _wanted_ to be lost."

She left, boots thudding against the grassy slope, Skywalker's lightsaber dangling heavily at her waist. Silence followed her, apathetic and cold.


	4. Chapter Three: New Man

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot idea._

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter Three: New Man**

When she had first entered, Captain Fasma had not been afraid. It wasn't in her character to fear, especially where Kylo Ren was concerned. The Sith was no more than a boy; immature and sullen, desperate and weak. Fasma had little respect for such a man, and what she did not respect, Fasma did not fear.

Metal and plastic bits crunched beneath her heavy boots, and with the enhanced vision of her helmet, she could make out the decimated med-bay around her.

Med-berths were flung on their sides, bent and warped like tin cans. Long scrapes clawed the floor where heavy equipment had been dragged, and every inch of the space was littered in the debris from weaker medical packages and flimsy silver instruments. A few uniformed bodies lay on the ground, and the battered forms of a few lifeless assistant medical drones lay on their sides. Darkness suffused the scene like a smoke cloud, and Kylo Ren was nowhere to be seen.

Fasma approached the center console; a heavy, pale bulk fitted with enough control panels and shattered black screens to monitor twenty patients at once. It was dead and dormant - cool. For such a machine to have become cold, it must have been shut down for several hours.

Fasma's helmet swiveled as she leveled her gaze into the darker, more obscured corners of her vision, frowning. It was possible that Ren had already fled to his own rooms, but, given his injuries, that was unlikely.

When she had run her gaze over every corner within sight, the Trooper Captain turned back toward the lit entryway behind her. Hux was there, looking as tense as a chicken held before the chopping block. Fasma snorted, and was about to call out when it happened.

Something swung down from the ceiling, suspended by cabling - massive, metallic, and spasming. Without hesitation Fasma lashed out, her fist striking metal and crunching inward.

That was a mistake.

Something jolted through her arm upon contact, and her helmet rattled as the charge fried her armor's systems. She went ridged as unseen electricity ran unhindered through her body, and Fasma knew she would die if she did not do something. The shape before her was still indistinct, especially now with her systems frying. Acting on assumption, fear beginning to eat into her unnaturally dispassionate heart, the female officer gasped out a staticky plea for attention.

"L-Lord Ren-!"

For a moment there was only the agony of unresponsive blackness and the thundering crash of wave after wave of building charge rolling through her body.

Then it stopped, and the electrifying shape that hung before her crumpled in upon itself with a pitiful crunch, machinery fluid dripping wetly down. Wires she had not even felt, through her armor, disentangled from her wrist with a slick sound, and the cables that supported the now-crumpled thing snapped. It fell heavily at her feet with a thud.

Fasma staggered on her feet, trembling and gasping for air. Her arm twitched at her side, and the female officer gritted her teeth against the lingering pain of electrocution.

Her helmet had shorted out, effectively rendering her blind, and her weapon had fallen from spasming fingers - clattering away into the dark.

Wary and disoriented, Fasma sank into a crouch, metallic joints screeching in protest.

From behind her, at the bright doorway, Commander Hux's furious, quivering words rang out. "Ren! You've gone too far, this time-!" The man sounded livid. Every word was like acid, and Fasma heard the click of a comm. link. "Hux to bridge; send down countermeasures appropriate to handling Kylo Ren."

A pause.

"No I did NOT mean anyone else! Captain Fasma is-"

"Alive." A new voice broke in, sounding from somewhere directly above Fasma's head. She froze, eyes wide behind her helmet.

The voice was Kylo Ren's, to be sure; rolling and deep, warped by the metallic rasp of his mask's filter. Something light and cloth-like brushed with a hiss against Fasma's shoulder - a robe? The female officer remained as still as possible, eyes narrowing.

When Ren spoke again, he was directly in front of her. She jerked back instinctively, hands rising to rip and tear - anything to remove the threat - but what seemed to be thin air held her immobile.

She could not resist as something dark hovered closer to her helmet. She barely quivered as fingers found the wrist that had born the brunt of the electricity's current, pulling her arm upward for Lord Ren's inspection.

The voice sounded again, near enough to send shivers up the female officer's spine - if she had been the sort for such a thing. Instead she remained still, caught within the hold of the Sith's Force, and waited. Lord Ren was obviously alive - alive and, more astonishingly, mobile. Having fulfilled her orders from Hux, Fasma could now afford to be a curious audience to what happened next.

"You should not second-guess me, Commander. You will lose more captains that way." Something shifted - air breathed against Fasma's armor as the Sith rose, his robes rippling softly. The Force continued to hold her bound with every step from the young apprentice, and she noted with some surprise that it was almost soothing. The thought was a strange one, but once she realized it, it could not be ignored.

It was like careful touch - like being cradled in feathers. Fasma scorned most comforts, being a soldier at heart and in practice, but this... though she disliked it, her body did not. Even as she was lowered - forced slowly down to the floor without a sound - she could not help but enjoy the whisper of power in the air - the crooning murmur that told her there was no more need of her services... she was damaged, and sleep was the best recovery.

It was too smooth to be unnoticed, but she could no more resist it than she could disagree with it.

The last thing the Captain heard before darkness swallowed her was the beginning of Hux's enraged tirade.

* * *

If he had been furious at the supposed loss of Captain Fasma, he was livid at the news she was alive. More accurately, he was enraged at the source of the information. At Kylo Ren.

Commander Hux was not taller than the Sith apprentice, but what he lacked in size he made up for with the intensity of hatred.

Ren had come simply enough out of the darkened med-bay, and once the man's bare white feet had touched the carpeted corridor floor, the darkened chamber had lit into life behind him, revealing the trashed interior and a very unconscious Fasma sprawled on the debris-littered floor. A large ceiling fan, crumpled and battered and leaking fluid, lay at her feet, its free wires lolling lifelessly. Cables dangled from the cracked ceiling, and every piece of furniture that wasn't bolted to the floor was flipped, wrecked, and in a state of general disrepair.

Fury didn't even begin to describe Hux's feelings on the matter at the moment.

"You were _injured_ , Lord _Ren_ ," He spat, hands fisted, suit straining as he swelled with rage. "It is my duty to ensure that you remain alive, and I cannot comply with that directive if you refuse to accept treatment!"

A dark visor watched him impassively. The rest of Ren was stark naked save for a coat-like robe, but somehow the familiar mask seemed to clothe him - to render him properly dressed for the argument. Hux didn't know how that worked out, but the impression seeped in the air.

Pale lips thinned in a sneer as the Commander glared, chest heaving.

"Do you have any _idea_ of what you cost me?" He continued. "You may serve the same master as I, Ren, but you serve the _enemy_ better with every attempt!"

"I apologize, Commander."

Hux paused mid breath, startled. The tall figure of Ren seemed to loom without trying, calm and controlled.

That in and of itself was Commander Hux's first clue that something was very wrong.

A pale hand reached out between them, falling solidly onto Hux's cushioned shoulder-pad. Its fingers were long and thin, as ever; Hux had seen Ren's naked skin before. But they were steadier now, the grip firm and unforgiving.

The inky gaze of the mask seemed to press into him when he looked back up, and Hux could see his own blank reflection in the glass.

Ren spoke again. "The destruction was unintentional, Commander Hux. I suggest, if you wish to avoid this sort of thing in the future, you leave me to tend to my own business."

And then he was gone. There was no dramatic swish of robes - no final glare or imperiousness. There was only a darkly clad back fading into the distance, bare feet soundless against the carpet, hooded head held low but steady.

Hux stared stupidly after the receding figure, expression slack. Slowly, brows lowering in mixture of confusion and irritation, the Commander activated his comm. link,

"Hux to bridge. Repairs required in medical bay." He glanced back into the now brightly lit room, gaze falling onto Fasma's sleeping form. "...Send a medic."


	5. Chapter Four: Ebb of The Tide

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot idea._

 _Special thanks to:_

 _1) "Shippooliver" and "Tawny" for reviewing! I really appreciate the feedback and I love to hear you're both enjoying it. ^^_

 _2) "The Sith and the Scavenger" and "The Skywalkers and Greatness" for adding this story to their community!_

 _3) "Silvery Rain" and "YinNoPiano" for Favoriting this story! Thank you so much, you two!_

 _4) "minchen0897", "YinNoPiano", "Shippooliver", "Lani Carmine", and "FallRose12" for Following this story! I hope you enjoy it enough to look forward to the updates. :)_

 _Again, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to review or message me~_

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter Four: Ebb of The Tide**

Poe Dameron woke in the dim lighting of a darkened med-bay. Orange light glowed softly from slits in the white ceiling overhead, and medical drones purred past on motored limbs or treads. The hospital had been prepared for the night, and new staff walked quietly past, giving the pilot a few curious glances before moving on.

They were right to be confused by his presence, since he technically wasn't supposed to be here (healthy and whole didn't fit well in the Resistance's med-bays). The curvaceous nurse that had allowed him to stay was probably off-duty by now, so there was no obvious explanation for why Poe was sleeping, curled up on his side in thin, pale blankets and rumpled leather clothes, in one of the medical berths.

Poe blinked at the bleached desk beside his bed, still clearing the fog of sleep from his mind.

A pair of red goggles stared back at him - vivid and gleaming. He frowned at them, something stirring in his brain. He hadn't worn goggles like that to the med-bay, but they were on the supplies desk associated with his bed.

Something clicked, and Poe closed his eyes, a humorless smirk curling at his lips.

"Have you been watching me sleep?" He asked, voice rasping and tired in his own throat.

The response was immediate, dry and sarcastic. "I wanted a proper nightmare rather than those watered down things they keep forcing on me."

Poe rolled in the blankets, looking over at the figure who was seated at his bedside. "Still having trouble with those, then?" He asked seriously, frowning.

The woman in the chair gave him a thin smile, her fine blue features stretching. She wore an officer's uniform, fitted perfectly to her willowy figure. Green eyes, luminous and catlike, blinked thoughtfully at the pilot. "No trouble I haven't asked for." She answered, voice husky and deeper than a woman's should be.

Poe snorted, turning his attention back onto the ceiling overhead and stretching his arms. "You should take the medication." He yawned, words garbled and distorted in his mouth.

"Medication's nauseating."

"What, literally?"

"Yes."

Poe gave her a raised eyebrow. "So you're choosing freakishly terrifying nightmares over nausea." He said flatly. The woman smiled again, her perfect teeth gleaming. Poe sighed, running a hand through his mussed hair and jerking himself suddenly into a sitting position. That turned out to be a bad idea, and he doubled over with a groan.

"Still sore from your last flight, then?" The woman asked.

He answered her with a derisive snort.

Her name was Kinsley, and she held the respectable position of second lieutenant, assigned to the operation and maintenance of the TIE-fighters. That was how Poe had first met her.

The ring on her left hand proved how important that first meeting had been.

Poe smiled, reaching out suddenly. She met his hand without hesitation, wry smirk fading into something softer. Their fingers intertwined, warm and calloused, and she leaned forward to brace her weight on his bed. "You did good." She said, and Poe's smile tightened.

Trust it to Kinsley to bring back the worries he had been avoiding thinking about, and soothe them in the same moment.

"We almost didn't make it." He whispered back, grinning without humor.

She nodded, and there was a stiffness in her neck - a tension in her shoulders. "I saw. I heard."

For the next few hours, there was only the soft swell of respirators and the murmur of medical equipment. The smell of sterile chemicals was sharp in the air, but the couple was warm and comfortable in the dim lighting. Peace surrounded them; the sighing aftermath of a vicious battle. The dead were already mourned and gone. The living were recovering.

It was a good day in the Resistance.

* * *

Rey hadn't left. She couldn't bear to.

The sand was soft and wet beneath her knees, soaking her clothes with the wet of lapping waves. Warm breeze pulled gently at her braided hair, pushing her tears away in slanting tracks down her cheeks. Luke Skywalker's lightsaber was cold and heavy in her hands, cradled in her lap as she slumped upon the shore.

All she had ever heard of the Jedi had been hopeful for his return, if only he could be found. Commander Leia's desperate eyes flashed in Rey's mind's eye, tired and old. Han Solo's bitter sadness ached in her heart, and she could remember his wry, hapless smile when she had spoken the Jedi's name.

So many needed Luke Skywalker, but none of them realized how shattered the man would be... least of all Rey.

She had been so confused by him; by his promises and his strangely empty friendliness - as though he were going through remembered motions of polite interaction. But the Jedi's despair had conquered, as had his bitterness.

Rey didn't know what it was precisely that he hated, but there was hatred and sadness in Luke Skywalker - she had felt it very clearly, though she hadn't recognized it for what it was until too late.

Now she sat on a wet beach, the grassy slopes of the Jedi's mountain rearing stoically behind her, and cried.

Rey didn't like to cry. It felt weak, and it always brought trouble on Jakku- scorn and laughter followed anyone who wept, no matter what they were mourning. Maybe it was because the trials were too great to survive, if one mourned... maybe it was a defense to laugh instead of join tears together. Or maybe Jakku was as harsh as she had always believed, and no one thought there was anything in the world worth crying over.

But here, now, there didn't seem anything else to do, and for that Rey cried.

They had counted on her - Leia and Han, Poe Dameron and Finn- gods, Finn was counting on her... Finn was lying in a hospital bed, sliced open and unconscious, because of the evil he had stood against. The evil he couldn't beat.

Rey could beat that monstrosity - the First Order - but she needed to learn... needed to understand the things Kylo Ren had offered to teach her, and Luke Skywalker refused to show her.

The Jedi had touched a sore point when he mentioned Ben Solo's alternative name. Rey could remember the horrific fury of that night - the awful battle and the hatred she'd felt. She remembered Finn's still, wounded body staining the white snow red. She remembered fires and explosions - screams and the smell of burning flesh. Most of all, she remembered Kylo Ren's - Ben Solo's - haunting, hungry eyes piercing into hers during his interrogation.

The moment the Sith had taken off his mask, Rey had hated him.

As a masked monster, Kylo Ren was no more twisted than any other evil creature. It was easy to battle him then - to imagine him as a faceless entity she had to defeat. But when he'd taken off his mask - when she'd seen the human face and the pained, bitter expression - Rey was forced to see that the thing before her was no monster, evil by nature and easy to battle. No, Kylo Ren was a person - the human son of Han Solo and Commander Leia - who had chosen to abandon all the things Rey wished were hers. And she hated him for it.

Another sob racked her frame. Rey shuddered, sinking into herself and pressing her face into her knees.

So much had been given for the sake of beating the First Order of which Ben Solo was just a part, but she could do nothing, now. Solo had a master, he'd said - she knew master's exceeded apprentices, and her victory over Ben had been mostly luck. There would be no one to fight whatever depraved mind had trained Ben and seduced him to the Dark Side... no one to stand as opposition to the Sith's powers, now that Skywalker had refused to train her.

Rey was only a scavenger, and all her hopes of becoming more were washed away - as weak and dissolving as the sand beneath her knees.

A step sounded behind her, and Rey's head jerked up, eyes wide and startled.

Skywalker's hooded form stood at the base of the mountain path, sandaled feet just shy of the sand. He leaned heavily on an old staff, and his blue eyes watched her without expression.

When he spoke, his voice was cracked and old, every word seeming to take an enormous amount of effort.

"Come back inside, young one, and tell me your story."

Rey blinked at him, clearing her throat and trying to subtly scrub away her tears with the back of her hand. "You changed your mind?" She challenged bitterly, glaring at him.

The blue eyes softened, a sadness intensifying behind their light. "...Come inside." The Jedi repeated. Then he turned around on his sandals and began to walk back up the trail, staff clicking against the cobbles.

After a few moments, Rey followed.


	6. Chapter Five: Hidden Changes

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot idea._

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter Five: Hidden Change**

Supreme Commander Snoke was not impressed.

His gaze roamed over a dark, bowed head; over broad, relaxed shoulders and a solidly supporting arm. Pale fingers fanned against a dark platform, the hand's twin hanging loosely from Kylo Ren's bent knee.

But where there had once been fear - where once burning eyes had glared, desperate for glory - there was only dead, unreadable regard.

No... Supreme Commander Snoke was not impressed. He was curious.

His holographic form wavered and fizzled as the massive Sith leaned forward, eyes narrowing to scrutinize the young man before him. Large, skeletal fingers tapped a thoughtful tune upon the side of his throne, and Snoke hummed a deep note.

"Something troubles you, Kylo." He observed aloud, admiring the way his voice resounded off of his apprentice's body - the way his might surrounded the weaker creature.

A pale face turned upward to face him, free of its mask (as was usual in their private meetings), and Snoke's attention snapped to the dark eyes that watched him in return. He looked eagerly for the wariness- for the edge of frustration and the hint of bitterness that his apprentice was steeped in-

-but it wasn't there. He was rewarded with a coldness that was both surprising and intriguing, and a thin, humorless smile.

"Nothing troubles me, Master." Kylo Ren answered him. The boy's voice was steady and deep, but more importantly, it was honest.

Snoke frowned, leaning back with a whoosh of displaced air that transferred from his surroundings to Kylo's. "Then you have learned to control your surroundings - to destroy the weakness that cripples you." It wasn't a question, but he expected an answer nonetheless.

Kylo gave it to him, again with the steady, truthful respect of before. "No, master." The dark eyes were like magnets, and the boy's aura was like a vacuum. Snoke knew there was importance in this, but...to his frustration, that importance eluded him. Before he could unleash this irritation, Kylo continued.

"You told me that I needed to shed my past in order to accept my future- to destroy the ties I had to the Light in order to become one with the Dark. That's what you said, isn't it, Master?"

Snoke nodded, stroking his chin in suspicion. "Yes." The word fell smoothly between them, drawn out by the Master's predatory caution.

The apprentice smiled a crooked, alien smile, and his black curls fell low as he bowed.

"You were right." It was a rasped whisper - a strange contrast to the smoothness of his question. "And I have." The eyes flicked up, and despite himself, the Sith master felt as though he were being skewered by the penetrating gaze. He stiffened, returning the look with thoughtful, cold regard. Kylo elaborated without prompting, ever word echoing in the space around them.

"I feel I should report to you that your apprentice, Ben Solo, is dead. The girl, Rey of Jakku, killed him in the forest."

There was a heavy silence. Snoke stared at Kylo Ren, and for a brief moment considered the possibility that his unstable apprentice had finally lost his mind.

Ben Solo had taken the name Kylo Ren upon becoming Snoke's apprentice. They were one and the same; both desperate, emotional, and tempestuous. Ben Solo took comfort in the identity of Kylo Ren, hiding from his fears and refusing to face the difficulties of Solo's past. Kylo Ren was a crutch for the apprentice; a mask he assumed to protect his fragile self.

And now Ben Solo, Kylo Ren, was claiming they were not only distinct, but one of them was dead.

Snoke leaned forward, folding his long fingers and wishing that massaging one's temples was a more dignified practice.

"Explain yourself." He rumbled, glaring down at the troublesome creature before him.

Kylo's head tilted, and his expression became more blank.

"It's a difficult thing to explain." He finally began after a moment's pause. "I...don't think I'm quite accustomed to it yet myself. All I know at the moment is that..." The young man paused, looking oddly intent and yet at the same time thoughtful. "...I don't care, anymore."

This statement was no more understandable than the first. Snoke snorted, leaning back and allowing the shadows to shade him. "You do not care." He repeated, mulling the words over in his mind. "What is it, precisely, that has lost your personal investment?"

Kylo Ren gave an unusually casual shrug. "Everything... almost." The last word was added quietly - thoughtfully. The boy seemed to seek out Snoke's gaze, and the Sith master realized at that moment that his apprentice was trying to read him just as he was trying to read his apprentice.

As though he heard this realization for himself, Kylo Ren gave a slight, cruel smirk.

"I think the only thing that holds my investment now, Master, is victory." He said.

The words were too cryptic to be satisfying to Snoke. He could sense very little of the boy's mind- could read only what was meant to be seen. In the past, Kylo had been all but an open book to his master. Now...

...Now, Supreme Commander Snoke's eyes narrowed to slits, and his scarred lips tightened in a sneer. "We shall see..." He replied, hissing and fisting the fingers of one hand. "Continue your course. Assist Commander Hux in everything he does, but ensure that your return to my fortress - both of you - is expedient."

He waited for the affirming nod - felt slight satisfaction when it came - and with that, he allowed his holographic form to vanish from Hux's ship. Surrounded once more by the darkness of his fortress, Snoke propped his mouth upon his knuckles thoughtfully.

That had been a strange meeting; the first time he had not been able to understand his apprentice's intentions, and the first time he had been disappointed by the lack of Kylo Ren's mask.

Then again, perhaps the boy hadn't removed his mask after all. Perhaps the mask itself was Kylo Ren's new face, and the flesh beneath was the mask, ready and waiting to be underestimated...

No matter what the boy intended or had become, there was one thing that was certain in Snoke's mind.

Kylo Ren would not be as easy to manipulate as Ben Solo... the boy was hiding something from it, and more worryingly, he was doing it very well.

* * *

"Commander Hux."

The officers and soldiers aboard the ship's bridge stiffened at the sound of the familiar tone. The buzz of conversation and relayed orders faded, replaced by staring, watchful eyes and hunched shoulders, all directed at the dark figure who strode easily up the main walkway.

At his position near the front of the path, Commander Hux stood stiffly at attention, every muscle taught enough to snap. The thin man seemed ready to throttle Kylo Ren's approaching figure, but seemed just enough in control to think better of it (or maybe it was wariness that restrained him).

"Yes, Lord Ren?" He bit out smoothly, turning to regard the Sith apprentice.

Ren had reclaimed his dark robes and leathery armor. A black hood sent his familiar and battered mask into shadow, and free-flowing, inky cloth billowed behind him. His boots landed heavily; surprisingly solid for a man that had spent the past two days recovering from the brink of death.

When he spoke, the Sith's voice echoed; so silent and attentive was his audience. "Change course. Set it for Jakku." Ren seemed oblivious to any but the man he addressed; unaffected by the combined stares of the entire bridge staff.

Hux frowned, looking as though he was caught between anger and confusion - a common enough expression in his case. "I was under the impression Supreme Commander Snoke had ordered a regrouping at home base." He argued, arms folding in front of his thin chest.

The Sith apprentice regarded him, black robes rippling eerily. "Snoke did not give this order, Commander Hux. I did."

Shock bristled in the air. None of the surrounding officers were foolish enough to intervene, but their eyes watched unblinkingly now, and a few shifted nervously.

Commander Hux raised a single, slim eyebrow, and his expression became as icy as a looming glacier, and twice as foreboding. "Did you now..." He all but purred, eyes slitting dangerously. "And why might that be, Lord Ren?" The token term of respect and relatively smooth tone were only a mask - menacing heralds of what was to come; the equivalent of a dog's bristling hackles. Hux was not to be trifled with, despite some appearances.

In the face of this chilly wrath, Kylo Ren did not so much as flinch. He remained disturbingly unresponsive; deadened and inactive. To the many who had seen his destructive temper, this was an unnerving sight.

"Supreme Commander Snoke," Ren began calmly. "Is no longer of use." Though his eyes were invisible behind the black glass of his mask, it seemed as though the Sith's gaze narrowed. Where his first words had hung like strange, lazy notes of a tuneless song, the next fell like warped thunder, threatening and dark. "If you or any of this crew disagree, Commander Hux, you are welcome to swim your way through space into his arms.

"As of this moment, I am taking charge of this vessel and of the First Order. We will reclaim our scattered forces, and we will claim the victory that should be ours."

Inky, rippling glass cast an unseen, unrelenting gaze over all of them as the dark helmet turned on powerful shoulders. Silence answered the announcement, and from Hux to the janitor in the corner shadows, every eye was wide with shock.

It was Hux who finally broke from the spell of surprise.

The Commander moved like lightning, lips baring in a snarl as he snatched at the blaster on his hip. "Traitor-!" He roared.

It happened in a moment; a split second of motion and speed.

One second saw Commander Hux leveling a sleek, glossy blaster, its end glowing with ready charge; Kylo Ren opposite him, dark and immobile.

The next, the blaster backfired, its poisonously green bolt shattering in the barrel - sparks flying and filling the air with the stench of scorched metal. Hux's scream rang loudly for an instant before it was strangled into silence - the Commander dangled, suspended in midair, mouth gasping desperately for air, hands scrabbling at his own throat.

For his part, Kylo Ren stood as still as a statue; strangely casual and at ease. His position had not changed, save for a slight twitch against his robes - the fingers of his right hand clenching into a fist beneath the shroud-like cowl.

Soundlessly, the rest of the bridge watched - too shocked to assist their commander, and too intelligent to disregard that shock. A few troopers shifted subtly back from the scene, lowering hands that had previously lunged for their own blasters, helmets ducking submissively.

The battle between both leaders had built over many months - all of them had seen it. They had watched as Kylo Ren, young and desperate, had demanded both their obedience and their respect - their fear. They had watched eagerly as Commander Hux rose to the occasion, putting the youthful relic of a dilapidated practice in his proper place; proving their own strength to be greater than the so-called Force of their ally. They'd seen the smoldering, childish rage of the apprentice - but more importantly, the lack of retribution on his behalf.

Now they watched, unable to tear their eyes away, gripped by a morbid fascination, as that same Commander received a reaction he (and they) had thought would never come.

Hux's body shuddered in the air, and finally a woman's voice broke the silence with a scream. "You're killing him-!" Lieutenant Halifax shrieked from her cowering position at a security monitor, stating the painfully obvious in her panic.

Kylo Ren did no more than tilt his head in her direction, no doubt taking note of her identifying rank and name-plate.

The surrounding troopers and officers did not assist their Commander. They were each frozen by the terrible inactivity of their fellows - as subject to indecision as any other soldier whose commanding officer was suddenly and soundly defeated.

Before any decision could be made, Hux's body fell suddenly to the floor, landing in a rolling, spasming heap. The Commander flailed weakly, desperately attempting to rise to his knees. He was vulnerable, and Ren did not hesitate.

A few steps brought the usually distant Sith to close quarters, and an easy lunge allowed black-gloved fingers to snatch at Hux's exposed collar, hauling the man into Ren's hold with frightening ease.

His wounded prey obtained, Kylo Ren nodded his hood to the remaining staff simply, ignoring their stunned expressions, and departed from the bridge, dragging Hux's choking form behind him.

"Set the course I described." He called out as he passed through the main doors. The silvery panels slid shut when the last of Hux's twitching boots vanished around the corner, their sealed surface cutting off both the Commander's heaving breaths and Ren's heavy steps. In the dimness of the bridge, uncertain and dumbfounded, the remainder of Commander Hux's staff was left alone.


	7. Chapter Six: Promises To Keep

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot idea and a few side-character OCs._

 _Special thanks goes to:_

 _1)_ Shippooliver, GreekGoddessHestia, tea-rex, TJ, Serrure, and bluejustic13 for reviewing! Thanks so much, all of you! _(Since I can't respond to non peoples on , I'll answer you here:_

 _Serrure_ _: Aw, thank you! :) So happy that you think so!_

 _TJ_ _: I admit, I lap up that stuff too. ;) It's a lot of fun when it's well done, but I'm sometimes a bit annoyed by the way some people ignore everything BUT the angst in Kylo Ren's character- he's too multi-dimensional to just leave it at "he's emo and tortured and we'll just redeem him through feels". But that's just me, and it doesn't stop me from enjoying it when I'm in the mood. ;)_

 _I think it's safe to say that we don't know what's going on inside Ren's head, yet, so the drastic change may be more of a mask than is portrayed at the moment. Not going to say that's the case; I'll only promise that I've worked pretty hard on making him realistic rather than pushing him into my own little box of "what Kylo Ren should be"._

 _Hope you like how everything plays out! Thanks again for reviewing- I really appreciate it.)_

 _2)_ I know I'm horrible for not naming everyone who followed and favorited this story, but I nearly spewed out my drink when I saw how many had done just that. Thank you thank you thank you, all! I'm really pleasantly surprised at the positive feedback I've gotten, and it's definitely inspiring. :)

Feel free to message or review, as always~

~Willow

 **.:Kylo Ren:.**

 **Chapter Six: Promises To Keep**

"You need to understand something, Rey of Jakku..."

The fire crackled a happy tune, shadows dancing cheerily around the decrepit hut's interior, but Rey paid them no heed. Crouched crosslegged on the dirty floor of Skywalker's home, the Scavenger girl watched intently as her host stirred a second bowl of soup, adding a few sprigs of spice to the dark, watery liquid. The Jedi sounded as weary now as he had on the shore; his head was bowed, the brown hood obscuring his face and beard.

"You were right to think of me as lost." He continued. His shoulders were taught and hunched. "I have been... lost... for some time now." Every word was painful, as though drawn from his tongue by a fishhook and string.

The hood rose, and half-closed, deadened blue eyes met Rey's searching gaze, their depths hauntingly sad, like twin wells of unshed, unacknowledged tears. But Skywalker was not one for weeping, it seemed - even with as little as she knew him, Rey knew that the old man felt no need to cry, as she had. The glistening in his eyes were tears that weren't meant to be shed - tears that were like droplets of acid to his soul.

Rey blinked, stiffening her lips and frowning resolutely. She felt no pity for this man - not after what he had said and done. All she had known of Skywalker had been betrayed by his own admissions, and the explanation he was about to offer her was justly owed and long overdue.

The silvery beard ruffled as the Jedi heaved a sigh, pausing in his soup-stirring to stare at her almost apologetically.

"I failed, Rey. You cannot know how painful it is to fail... not as I have. I lived to see the salvation of my family and my friends - the redemption of my father and the victory of our people." From the corner of her eye, Rey saw the wrinkled hands shake. "And now-"

The deep voice broke, cracking into a rasping shudder that reminded her of shattering glass, and Luke Skywalker crumbled in upon himself before her eyes, head bowing, one clasping at his shadowed face.

"Now I live to see my father's memory disgraced by the boy I could not tame, my people hunted by forces that refuse to die and leave us in peace- my sister tortured by my failures, and my friends-" Wretchedness muffled the words, distorting them with wet gasps, and the old man's body heaved with sudden emotion as painful shame consumed him. "What have I done... oh God- _what have I done-_ " He sobbed, and the sparse walls echoed his grief.

Rey realized that wet warmth was trickling again down her cheeks. She brought trembling fingers up to scrub away the tears, sniffing roughly and clearing her throat. Her breath was as shuddering as Skywalker's, and her heart ached with sympathy she wished she did not feel.

"You left them all, Luke." She managed to croak, blinking rapidly to clear her gaze - fixing him with as steady a gaze as she could. "You left them all to die. _That's_ what you did..."

 _But you can help us!_ She thought desperately, and her resolve shook. _You can help us now, and everyone will forgive you for before..._

The Jedi shook his head, his face still hidden behind his trembling hand. "No, Rey. I can't help any of you... not like this. I'm a broken man. I can see that clearly enough."

Shock that he had listened to her thoughts gave way to sudden rage that brought Rey sharply to her feet, hands fisting at her sides. She bared her teeth, glaring down at the hunched, robed figure before her.

"That's not good enough." She hissed thickly, tears still dripping from her chin. "They're depending on you!" The last words were nearly a shriek - a snarl she could not contain. "They _need_ you- _I_ need you!"

"You're wasting your ti-"

"No, _you're_ wasting my time!" She couldn't stop anymore - there was too much desperation and fury; too much pity and pain. It had to stop. There was no respect to stop her from forcing the Jedi master to listen to her, now- he'd lost it the moment he sent her away.

"Your father committed sins - he made mistakes - and he was redeemed! He brought himself back from the Dark Side, and he saved lives doing it. Are you so arrogant that you think your sins are too great for redemption?"

Her shoulders were shaking - her lips were wet with salty tears of pure frustration and uncontrollable disgust. Skywalker stared up at her, now, his clear eyes wide and startled into blank shock. The hot soup was spilling over his hands, poured accidentally from its forgotten bowl. Rey didn't care - she wasn't finished.

"How DARE you think that!" She roared, stamping her foot against the unforgiving stone. "People need your help, Luke Skywalker, and you won't give it to them because you're too proud to try again - to accept your faults and move the _fuck_ on with your life! You're too busy mourning the dead to bother with saving the living...!"

With a gasp, she broke off. Words almost choked her - there were too many to say, and she was too lost in memory and passion to piece them together. Every word brough back images - one chief among the rest.

 _-Dark fingers around a cold, shining handle - red blade in the white night- Finn's scream-_

Sudden, agonizing fear and sorrow chilled her bones, and Rey trembled, hands coming up to fist against her weeping eyes. Her teeth bared as she sobbed, and she fell weakly onto her knees, head falling forward as she caved into herself.

"I was so scared..." She hiccuped, the words a hot whisper against her own lips as she struggled to breathe. "I was _so scared_... people were dying, and I couldn't do anything... I couldn't help him- he was going to die-!

"They all told stories about you- but now I can't believe them, and there's nothing else for me to do but watch while everyone else dies... if you don't help me learn the Force, Kylo Ren will find me-" She shivered, choking on a sob that threatened to break free. "I should've killed him when I had the chance... Now I can't forget him - the way he killed Captain Solo - and I'm _terrified_..."

A rough hand tentatively enclosed her thin wrist, a calloused thumb rubbing a gentle line against her veins. Rey froze, her swollen eyes aching against her stiffening fists, lips sucking in cool air.

When she lowered her hands, letting her eyes open to squint in the light, Luke Skywalker was kneeling before her. His pale, wrinkled fingers held her wrist firmly, and his expression was soft- understanding and wet with tears of his own. His blue eyes were clear and warm, mirroring her sadness and her despair.

"We both are weak." He murmured. "But you are far wiser than I..."

He smiled slightly, voice weak but resolved.

"...Take heart, young Padawan. We begin tomorrow."

* * *

 _ **A.N.**_ _short chapter is short - sorry, everyone... :( But the rest of what I was writing wouldn't fit well into this chapter, so I'm saving it for the next one._


	8. Chapter Seven: The Value of Knowledge

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot idea~_

 _Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or followed this story. I'm glad you're all enjoying it so much!_

 _I know I usually answer reviews here, but as you can probably guess from my recent absence, I've been a bit busy; I'm sorry… :( I promise I'll be answering everything and individually thanking you all when I post the next chapter!_

 _Please enjoy, and don't forget to review!_

 **.:KYLO REN:.**

 **Chapter Seven: The Value of Knowledge**

The corridor was chilly, but being made of metal gave BB8 the advantage of being unbothered by this. Smooth floor rolled beneath his base, his scarred plating bumping against dips and dents in its surface. His optic watched with a mix of wide fascination and owlish confusion as closed doors blurred by, each number categorized, checked, and dismissed as incorrect.

If one knew how to read the expressions of a droid, they would have seen the nervous jitter of his antennae; the excited wriggle of his orblike body and the hopeful expectation in the glow of his humming systems.

BB8 was adorable, as droids went, but that fact did not occur to him as he rolled eagerly down the hall. Presently, his processors were occupied heavily with every floor plan available to him, and one name stood out clearly among the others: Poe Dameron.

His friend had managed to vanish again, and that made BB8 slightly concerned – not that he would have admitted it to R2D2… His clear optic darkened with a blush, and a certain tilt to his top portrayed the small droid's embarrassment as his thoughts tripped down a new, diverting path.

R2D2 was an impressive and inspiring droid, and BB8 was quite lucky to have gotten the chance to meet him. BB8 only wished he could apply for another chance sooner rather than later...

He rolled by a featureless, unremarkable door- or would have, if his proximity sensors had not suddenly wailed their protest. BB8 bleeped in surprise, skidding and tottering around in search of the cause – and then squealing mechanically with delight when he realized that his search was over.

A quick hack sent the door flinging aside with a wrenching hiss. BB8 barely cleared the narrow opening, so eager was his speed.

He saw Poe Dameron upon the human's cushioned resting place, accompanied by a strangely colored female. Both were 'naked', wide eyed and squawking strange exclamations he had not yet downloaded into his language files- he could only assume they shared his excitement. They were definitely energetic in their movements, both trying to scramble away from one another in their haste to welcome him.

"Damn you, BB8!" was not a common greeting, but he knew the pilot often cursed as a way to express affection.

It was a good day, the little droid thought to himself, wriggling and scrunching happily; optic squinched up in mimicry of Poe's usually smiling eyes. Definitely a good day.

* * *

The blasted rock hadn't so much as _twitched_ , and Rey was certain it had been at least two hours.

Sweat dripped in itchy trickles down her skin, and her eyes ached from staring. She could smell herself, and she stank. Her fingers trembled, clenched tightly against her knees, and her teeth throbbed with the press of her clenched jaw. But none of these things surpassed the awful pain in her head; the terrible roll of strain and spasm as she desperately tried to _think_ the stone into the air.

It was a relatively small rock, which only added to her frustration. Master Skywalker had given her a strange smirk when he'd brought it with them, and at the time she had been bemused and given him a thin smile in return.

If she'd known what he intended to make her do with it, she would have probably chucked it at his head instead.

A chuckle broke through her thoughts, and Rey gasped as she let her body fall limp, slumping forward against her crossed ankles. "What's so funny?" She snapped, managing to send a one-eyed glare the Jedi's way.

He had reverted to his elderly kindliness, eyes twinkling with a youthful spark. Rey didn't know how long it would last this time; if he would shrivel into the despairing thing she'd seen before, once she wasn't looking. But he hadn't yet, and they'd been together for two days now, simply eating and sleeping for the most part. They didn't speak much. Rey took it upon herself to lift the heavier cookingware or to scavenge food from the hills, and he hadn't contradicted her decision. Skywalker rarely asked for anything, and he rarely showed gratitude beyond a small, rough smile.

Even now he wore that expression: a mixture of somber regard and rugged humor. His words were almost swallowed into the warm breeze that whispered between them; soft and patient as the ocean itself.

"First, clear your mind. You must be calm in order to lift the stone." The icy blue eyes narrowed. "You did this once before. Aren't you curious as to how you drew my lightsaber to you, in your battle with young Solo? How now even this meager stone thwarts you?"

Rey snorted. At first she'd thought he was making a habit of reading her mind, but she'd soon realized that Skywalker had no need for mindreading. He was incredibly attentive, for a man who'd spent the majority of his life sulking on a far moon.

Rey lifted herself, easing the soreness from her bent knees and leaning back on her hands to face him. "You're right." She answered between breaths, unbothered by his accuracy at guessing her thoughts. "If I could use the Force on that lightsaber, why can't I use it on this rock just as easily?"

Luke gave another huffing chuckle. "It's not a question of fairness or constants, Padawan." The Jedi muttered, shifting himself into a more comfortable slouch against the mighty boulder he had chosen for his seat. "It's a question of attention; of focus and clarity."

"What sort of clarity did I have _in the middle of a battle_ that I don't have on a peaceful hillside?" Rey asked dubiously, raising one eyebrow.

His eyes slid sidelong and pinned her in that piercing way that meant she had asked the right question. "You had the benefit of desperation in that battle. You could not afford to be distracted. Here, in the calm of a summer's day, you think of everything but the one thing you consider a chore: lifting the rock."

Rey frowned, eyes narrowing as she considered this. "I was thinking a million thoughts in battle," She disagreed. "I was far from focused, then."

"On the contrary, you were thinking of nothing but saving your friend; of that I can assure you, though I was not there." He looked smug and confident, but not offensively so. "Let me describe the moment – the nature of your thoughts and how they must have flowed. If I am wrong, you may correct me."

Rey nodded, curious of his guess and eager to have a moment of freedom from the rock. With a grunt, she settled back to listen.

For a moment, Skywalker only watched her. She frowned a little self-consciously, but he soon relieved her by speaking.

If only he had stayed silent.

The air had chilled, but she would never have noticed if he had not said those three perfectly correct words.

"You were afraid."

They fell like thick ice between Master and Padawan; Rey blinked, staring unerringly into those clever blue eyes. Her fingers tightened unconsciously on her tunic's hem, fisting into the material.

"I was." She agreed firmly, attempting to shake aside the steadily growing chill of memory that stirred with every cut and stroke of Skywalker's searching gaze. She would not be cowed by remembered fear any less than she had been defeated by it in that moment – that awful moment of terror first gripping her heart.

But Skywalker spoke on, and her determination wavered as a shudder dug into her spine, sending her clenched fingers trembling.

"You are a wise child, Rey. You know there is no such thing as a benevolent world; as nature assisting those with kind hearts or loving souls. Goodness must be protected, or…" He paused, and Rey realized she had stiffened too much to breath. "Or it will be destroyed by those who love Evil."

"Kylo Ren." The name slipped out without thought on her part, and Skywalker's gaze turned into liquid pain.

"Yes. In that moment when your friend was about to die at the hand of evil, Rey of Jakku, you knew there was only one thing that would save him."

She swallowed thickly, turning aside to watch the dark grass waver in the breeze. It distracted her from the memory of snow, ice, and blood.

There was no merciful halt in the narrative. The deep voice sounded on, unrelenting and agonizing in its accuracy.

"You were his last hope, and you pursued that goal without pity. You shouldn't feel guilty. You were justice; an instrument of the Light in that moment, and there is no mercy in justice."…

* * *

… _Snow sizzled against her skin like droplets of acid. It matched her rage and spurred her fear. Like a rearing stallion that terror gripped her, binding thin, vice-like fingers around her pounding heart. She felt the ragged edges of her wounds stretch as she heaved herself to her feet; felt the cold bite and snap at her flesh, ripping her clothes aside with the jaws of a north wind and swallowing them down a howling throat. The ice crunched beneath her boots, white powder dusting her and wetting her skin with pitiless freezing droplets. Rey's breath came from cracked lips in pained, rasping gasps; her lungs burned from the cold._

 _Ahead of her stood the creature – the thing that had murdered its own father…. that now loomed above her closest friend; bloody-colored saber raised high - the air sizzling with heat around that crackling blade._

 _Kylo Ren was a thing of nightmare. His height was towering, and his visage watched the world with terrifying intensity, the black slit of his mask turning its gaze heavily upon all and any that surrounded him. But most terrifying of all was the face beneath; so human and so young, but empty and pitiless._

 _Dark eyes were narrowed in rage – she could see them and knew their direction: Finn. White teeth bared in a savage snarl as the Sith Apprentice readied himself to strike, fists trembling around the handle of his wild, spitting weapon._

 _Instinctively, desperate and resolved, Rey threw out her numb hand, fingers spread wide. With that movement, time resumed again._

 _Silver jittered on the ground before whipping through the air into her palm. The cold cylinder of Luke Skywalker's Lightsaber stung against her skin and burned like fire, but she did not feel it. She snarled as she raised it up – as she lighted its blade and leveled it at her enemy._

 _Finn would not die this night…. even if she had to kill to save him._

* * *

…"Padawan…"

Rey started, staring stupidly into sharp blue eyes, her lips parting with surprise.

"I…I…" She stuttered. Her hands were numb, clenched tightly into her tunic. With a shudder, she strove to control herself. "You were right in your guess." She rasped, turning sharply aside and desperately seeking distraction from the phantom echoes of her memory.

Skywalker remained silent, still seated and calmly relaxed against his boulder.

Rey could not think of anything else to say.

They sat in the dying sunlight together, silent and watchful; lost in thoughts best kept to themselves. Finally, the old Jedi broke the silence.

"Scars are teachers, Rey of Jakku. If you do not accept and learn from them, they will never fade."


	9. Author's Note: Important

Hello, everyone!

First of all, I'm sorry this isn't a chapter. BUT it should be happy news to you that I do have a chapter, and it's sooooo very close to being finished that I almost let you read it prematurely.

Long story short, I have to fix a few things in it, and I wanted to apologize in case you got notifications that this story had been updated.

That's my first order of business.

Secondly, I wanted to ask you all a couple of questions that I need your input on; I will be very grateful if you can help me by answering them. 3 Of course there's no need, but I'm literally looking to hear back from anyone and everyone who is or has been reading this story, if that's possible.

 **Question 1** : How do people feel about mature content in this story? I'm going to be really blunt here for the sake of clarity: what I mean by mature content is going to be

-Heavy violence (Digging around inside corpses, children not excluded, basic realistic treatment of what happens to the human body in open space, etc.)

-Explicet Sexual scenes (Dur-yup I think that's pretty clear enough)

-Severely sick psychological torture (treatment of sentient characters as animals/pets, gladiatorial/survival situations, etc.)

-Sections of Rough Language (I'm talking more about what's being said than how many "F**K's" are used.)

If you guys are okay/interested in this, let me know, and I'll bump up my rating to M in those chapters where it occurs.

 **Question 2** : "Is there a Doctor in the House?" By that I mean to ask if there is any saintly, wonderfully kind and merciful person among you who may be interested in helping me make sure my Star Wars facts are straight before I publish the chapters. Kind of like a Beta-reader. Please just PM me if you are willing, and I will be infinitely grateful!

Again, sorry if you got notifications for a new chapter! I promise it will be up soon!

-WeepingWillow555


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